


Ponies for the Inquisition

by Archangel_Beth



Category: In Nomine
Genre: Gen, Other, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-16
Updated: 2005-03-16
Packaged: 2020-01-13 12:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18469396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archangel_Beth/pseuds/Archangel_Beth
Summary: Sariel inspired this, and it's pure crackfic with some of the more obscure Wordbound of In Nomine.





	1. Part One

* * *

"What are we doing at the racetrack?" the Ofanite muttered to the Cherub, when he thought the Seraph was out of hearing.

The Cherub shrugged. "I don't know. He said we had to inquisit someone. It's what he does, y'know?"

"Yeah, but..." The Ofanite sighed and kicked at some straw. "We're looking for a _horse_?"

"That's what he said."

"And we have an empty horse trailer?"

"Don't ask me."

The pair stopped their conversation as the Seraph halted in front of a trailer. With a decidedly smug smirk, he smacked it -- and the Celestial Song of Seals bound 'round it.

The horse inside whinnied with alarm, kicking at the door, but the Seraph motioned for his triad to help him hold it shut.

Finally, the horse spoke. "What the _Hell_ is going on here? Where's my jockey?"

"You've got a new job now," the Seraph told it. "You've been _sold_."

There was a horse-scream of rage, and the trailer rocked as the being inside kicked and reared as much as it could. Finally, it stopped, and the horse panted, "That bastard. I'll kill him. I'll kill him _dead_."

The Seraph smiled. It wasn't entirely nice. "Already taken care of."

"Awwwww... blessit. You're the Game, aren'tcha? Fine, fine, I'll do my duty. I promise."

The Seraph swung the door open and seized the horse's halter. "Good. That will make things easier. But we're not the Game."

"You're not?" The horse -- a mare -- rolled her eyes. "What are you, then? And what do you need me for?"

The Seraph swung into the saddle. "There's a Word-bound Outcast in Amish territory. You were the easiest creature to requisition. Behave, and I'll see to it that the Angel of Mercy is assigned to your defense at your trial. If you don't," he added, sharply, as she started to buck, "I'll not only shoot you between your ears, I'll report to your Prince how much you've been skimming."

The mare stood on stiff legs. "You wouldn't."

"I'm a Seraph. I don't lie."

The word that followed was clearly Helltongue.

Head drooping, I'm Going To Hell started walking, with the Angel of the Inquisition on her back.


	2. Part Two (includes non-graphic horse smut)

* * *

I'm Going To Hell, shanghai'ed racehorse and Word-bound Lilim of Greed, hung her head and pretended to munch hay. Bad enough that her jockey was a sleeze who'd sold her and gotten himself killed, he was a sleeze who'd sold her to _angels_ and gotten himself killed. The best she had to look forward to was a nasty trial by the Angelic Game and a nasty execution.

Especially since that blessed, blasted Seraph didn't seem interested in horsetails.

Blessit.

She heaved a sigh, turned herself around, and hung her head out the stable door. Searching for a Word-bound Outcast in Amish territory. Just great. Her only other companion was an Ofanite -- currently out with a Cherub on _his_ back. Why couldn't they have just gone as a quad? Why?

Blasted Seraphim.

The stableboy -- or maybe someone's kid, who could tell with the monkeys? -- came and opened up her stall, leading her out to a fenced in field. She heaved another sigh as he left her there. Sure, she could jump it easy. But where to run? The cursed angel had proof of what she'd been skimming, and would probably Song of Tongues it straight to her Prince if she bolted, before she could give it all back.

There was another horse in the field, a fine Clydesdale stallion, looked like, with a coat of chestnut so dark as to be nearly black. She watched as he moved over towards her. Not that she was particularly interested, if he decided to be all stallion-mare about things, but it might scandalize the angels. She hung her head. After a moment, she remembered to pretend to eat grass.

The stallion swung around, and came up beside her, putting his own massive head down. She nearly choked on her grass when he said, "In a bit of trouble, I see."

To her confused silence -- blessit, why'd he have to have his eyes closed? -- he added, "I can help you. For a price."

A brother, then? "Name it," she hissed back.

"A year."

She whinnied, jerking her head up, and danced away. He lifted his own head, and moved toward her with speed and weight. She found herself with little room, the fence at one side and him at the other. "A year is outrageous," she muttered.

"Take it or leave it. If you're still here tomorrow, the price for getting you out of here -- and fixing the little problem with your Prince -- will be two years."

She laid her ears back. "Give me some room." When he sidled off, letting her step away from the fence, she added, "And are _you_ some angel, too?"

He shook his head, sending his fine mane flying. "No. I promise to tell you the truth."

She focused, made things _click_. "Right..."

"I'm not an angel. I'm a demon. A year's promise from you, and I get you out of here _and_ work to protect you from your Prince."

She pawed at the ground and eyed him sidelong. He really was a fine stallion, for all that he wasn't meeting her eyes enough to get a reading. And she really was in a bind. "All right. Blessit."

He quirked his mouth in an unhorse-like smile. "Good. Tonight, then. We don't want to alarm the humans too much."

"Fine, fine. So what do we do till then?"

He extended his nose towards her flank and haunches. "Pretend you're in season?"

"Oh, sure. Just watch out, big guy... I'm a little thing. Nearly a pony."

He chuckled, moving around behind her.

That was a Clydesdale vessel, all right.

*****

That night, he came to her stall, and nosed it open. "Come on."

She trotted after him. Finally, they came to an empty pasture where he stopped and scanned the area. She asked, "So, when do I get to know your name, big guy?"

He did that not-horse grin again. "When we get to Hell."

But his eyes were glowing a blazing red.

She wasn't really surprised when they got to his office and the Prince of the Game explained how it would be simpler if she did a few favors, instead of being executed for consorting with angels.


End file.
